Johnlock Fluff: Cluedo
by Lemondrops4U
Summary: When Sherlock Holmes is bored... There is only so much John Watson can do. First fanfiction so please send me reviews!


"John."  
"Not now, Sherlock."  
"John!" Sherlock whined, his head wilting off the side of the couch.  
"What is it?" the blonde finally sighed in defeat, whirling around away from his laptop to watch the great Sherlock Holmes, draped across the sofa like a five year old.  
"I'm bored!"  
"And who's bloody fault is that? You should have just accepted that Siberian case, it did look rather interesting."  
Sherlock huffed and sprung up off the couch, strutting over to peer out the window. "Only a mind as placid as yours would think that case in the least bit intriguing. It was just so obvious. So bloody dull!" he stormed.  
John rolled his eyes and frowned. Only Sherlock Holmes could think a triple murder in the most secure prison in Serbia to be boring.  
"What's with London, John?" Sherlock began again, his voice dripping with an odd sadness, "It's as if they've all just given up!" With that, he flung his hands in the air and plopped back onto the couch.  
"They?"  
"The criminal class! Do try to keep up, John. Your brain may be stuffed with rubbish, but that shouldn't stop you from making a simple inference!" Sherlock snapped back curtly. "Look at me, I'm John Watson. I can't understand a word my flatmate's saying, but at least I can remember the brunette's number from downstairs." he mocked.  
John's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "You idiot. And how could you possibly know about Jackie? I only got her number in Speedy's a good hour ago."  
"Oh John, do stop being so boring. It's quite obvious, really. You walked through the door, a faint blush on your cheeks about an hour ago. That could be for one of two reasons: you've met someone, or you're coming down with something. I favor the former because of your incredibly annoying habit for the last hour, staring at something clearly placed carefully on the desk and then stealing glances at your mobile. Trying to decide how long to wait before calling, are we? And how do you know she's a brunette, Sherlock? Well, if she was a blonde you would have called a good fifteen minutes ago, based on your true preferences in women." Sherlock ranted, no breath escaping between words.  
A pause. "Incredible."  
Sherlock smirked. "But she won't be good for you, John. I saw her step out of Speedy's through the window. Short, young, full of makeup, and yet hairs all over her clothing. Clearly the type of girl who obsesses over her cats, but so much so that she desperately attempts to hide it."  
John sighed and hung his head. Sometimes he wished his friend wasn't so good. "So I guess that's a no." he muttered, balling up the slip of paper with the girl's number. "So what shall we do? Looks like I've got more free time than I originally planned. We could go out?"  
"No, won't end well." Sherlock replied blankly.  
"Errr... Alright then. We could try to watch something on the tele?"  
"I'd prefer to watch paint dry rather than your silly obvious crime shows."  
"Fine, then what do you want to do? Play Cluedo?"  
A sudden glint entered Sherlock's eyes as he sat up from his huddled position on the sofa. "I can play Cluedo."

-line break-

There the two boys sat, huddled over the coffee table like two primary school children. John was sitting upright, back erect as he reached for the dice. Sherlock was at ease, lounging on the sofa with a smile playing at his lips. If anyone had walked into the flat at the moment, they would be rather amazed to find the two grown men playing a board game labeled 12-20 on a Saturday night. But this was John and Sherlock.  
"Haha," John chuckled happily, moving his pawn the three needed spaces to reach the confession area. "Looks like I'm the detective now, mate." Sherlock merely smirked, and gestured with his hand for John to go on.  
"Well, it was Miss Scarlett, wasn't it? With a bloody revolver in the bloody conservatory!" John grinned, reaching for the envelope to check himself.  
"Wrong." Sherlock muttered, tone void of emotion. A pause ensued, John's hand still hovering over the envelope.  
"Sorry?"  
"I said, wrong."  
Josh chuckled in annoyance and pulled his hand back. "I'm not wrong. I'm right. The clues add up."  
"Oh John, John, John." Sherlock sighed, shaking his head slowly and getting up to stride around the room, "Just when I had hoped you would use some true brain power."  
John was getting angrier by the minute, his face turning red. "Well, if your so brilliant who do you think did it?"  
"Dr. Black."  
"Dr. Black?!" John exclaimed, amazement written all over his face."  
"Yes."  
"You know he's the victim?"  
"Yes."  
"So are you saying it was a suicide?"  
"No, Dr. Black murdered Dr. Black. Obviously it was a suicide. John, this is getting tedious. Please just shut up and take my word for it."  
"That's not even possible! It's not in the rules. Dr. Black doesn't even have a bloody card! He can't possibly be in the envelope."  
"Then the game is wrong!" Sherlock suddenly raised his voice and swung to face John.  
"Of really?"  
"Yes."  
"Care to explain how you oh so amazingly deduced this to be a suicide?"  
"Oh John," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes, " all it took was a glance at the board. Now, why would Dr. Black invite all his guests into his home, and then disappear randomly?"  
"To go to the loo, possibly. What does it matter?"  
"Of course it matters you idiot! If you were trying to impressive a bunch of people by showing them your clearly extravagant home, don't you think you would wait around to see their reactions?"  
"Which is why it could be a murder. I mean, I collected all the clues, Sherlock. It's Miss-"  
"You see but you do not observe! This is an old mansion. It would be easy to hear the boards creak, especially in a different pattern depending on the height, size, walking style, and shoe of the culprit. But in the rules it said that when the lights went out, a full 10 minutes went by without a sound, and only then a scream was heard!" Sherlock ranted huffily, finally plopping into his armchair and staring at John. By now, the blogger had leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed and a frown permanently glued to his face.  
"Remind to never play Cluedo with you again." John replied, his tone resonating with the sound of displeasure, disappointment, and a hidden awe.  
"Well, all right. It was getting rather boring anyway."  
John rose from his chair and slowly walked towards his desk, where he had left his laptop discarded earlier that day. Opening it, he clicked on his blog, and sat down to continue the story he had left on, "The Hound of Baskerville". But 10 minutes went by, and John found that all he had accomplished was writing a single sentence and then deleting it again. He stole a glance behind him, where Sherlock was lying on the couch again, eyes closed and hands swinging from the sides. The silence was almost unbearable.  
"John?" Finally, a voice that interrupted the dreariness that had entered 221B.  
"Yes, Sherlock?"  
"I'm bored. Do you want to play something else? 39 Clues?"  
"Oh God yes."


End file.
